


One Garn

by OMOWatcher



Series: My RPF Dumpster [4]
Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Romanian Actor RPF, Sebastian Stan RPF, The Martian (2015) RPF
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff (if you squint), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injections, Motion Sickness, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8834602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OMOWatcher/pseuds/OMOWatcher
Summary: Jesus Christ, how many more times?  Sebastian thought to himself, blinking hard inside the helmet he was currently wearing. He was suspended by wires, inside the EVA suit on the set of The Martian, and honestly, he felt like utter shit.It wasn't the first time that Sebastian had performed wire work by a long shot. But his reaction today was certainly new...





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'd been planning a number of sickfics involving Sebastian when I first saw this [post](http://kittyseb.tumblr.com/post/150597641450/dancingloki-softcap-sebastian-stan-aka)... and immediately I found myself writing this. Because motion sickness is created by Satan, and I just wanted to rub his back until he was better. Failing that, I have to hope that someone at least offered him something to ease the symptoms on the set instead! So, this is kind of a fix-it.
> 
> Thanks, as always to my awesome betaing buddies - [VoiceOfNurse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoiceOfNurse) and [SebastianFloofyHair](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SebastianFloofyHair) \- for preventing me from making stupid errors writing up something as simple as an injection, and pointing out when my Britness shows too much! :D 
> 
> As always, any remaining errors are all mine, because I am terrible for fiddling even when my betas have fixed things!
> 
>  
> 
> **Disclaimer:**
> 
> I don't know the actual, real Sebastian Stan. This is just a facsimile of him and both he and the story bear no relation to reality. Any similarities in the scenario to Real Life™ are just coincidence. I intend no harm or upset to Sebastian, or his family and friends. Everything, including my medic, Hollie, is completely made up from the depraved depths of my brain.

_Jesus Christ, how many_ **_more_ ** _times?_ Sebastian thought to himself, blinking hard inside the helmet he was currently wearing. He was suspended by wires, inside the EVA suit on the set of _The Martian_ , and honestly, he felt like utter shit. His hands were shaking inside the thick layers of the costume, the room was yawing to the right and a cold sweat had broken out along his hairline, dampening the hair against the nape of his neck underneath the snug cap clinging to his scalp. It didn’t help that his head was starting to ache and the tight fabric currently felt like a metal band around his forehead. Oh, and he was about to throw up at any moment.  

Sebastian Stan suffered motion sickness. He always had. As a kid, he’d been the one sitting next to the teacher at the front of the school bus during field trips, puking into a plastic trash bag while everyone else jeered or pulled grossed out faces. It had improved a little as he got older, but he still spent a small fortune on Dramamine and Bonine. He’d even gone as far as getting these prescription patches that went behind his ear, but as much as they helped the motion sickness, the combination of unbearably blurred vision and struggling to pee was **not** a symptom swap he’d been willing to make. The tablets might not be as effective, but at least he could usually sleep through the worst.

He gritted his teeth and swallowed the saliva filling his mouth, forcing his churning stomach to co-operate through sheer willpower. He would just have to suck this up and get on with it. The thought of having to call a break was making his heart race and his breath come faster, and an anxiety attack would just make him feel even sicker; having to stop the cameras because he couldn’t cope with some minor wire work, especially when he was working alongside people like Matt Damon and Ridley Scott, was not an idea that he could bear to entertain. One of the visual effects team - Sam? Simon? - approached him, fiddling with the small camera attached to his helmet, and giving him a grin. Sebastian tried to smile back, but it felt far more like a grimace, and he took a slow, deep breath as he tried to quash the godawful nausea for just a bit longer.

Hopefully when everyone was happy with this take, he could go and sit down, get a little fresh air, until the worst of the sensation that he was about to heave his guts up had passed. It wasn’t even like he could just go and puke, and be done with it. It didn’t work that way; vomiting never helped the gnawing queasiness and just made him feel even more wretched and exhausted. And he couldn’t even have taken any medication today, assuming that he’d actually realised that the wire work would have affected him so viscerally. The drowsiness alone would have made it impossible to give his full input to anything until it wore off, and as he needed to take it a good hour or two beforehand, it wasn’t like he could simply schedule those scenes for the end of the day and just pop the pill as they started work on them.

Huffing out a breath through his nose, he straightened his back and prepared for yet another attempt to capture the right footage as the stunt crew slowly twisted and hauled him in the harness to his mark, the muscle in his jaw ticcing and silently praying for his body to just _behave_ , as the command came to release him.

It took everything in him to keep his eyes open as the set turned into a rapid blur of colour and light around him, his head spinning nastily and his stomach clenching. Sebastian fought against the acid rising in his throat, his chest tightening into an anxious ball. He was **not** going to throw up all over himself, the set and his costume, he told himself desperately. That was simply not an option. He was a grown fucking man, he could keep his damn stomach contents in place for just another minute, at least.

Even when he felt his feet meet solid ground, he didn’t dare relax. The room still spun on its axis, tilting dangerously, and his knees felt like they’d turned to water beneath him. But, at long last, they had the footage they needed for now; Sebastian pressed his lips into a thin line, his hands curling into balls by his side as the stunt team unfastened the wires from his suit. _C’mon, c’mon, please, move it, please..._ he begged mentally, his breath coming faster, fighting his roiling stomach, until finally, the last carabiner was unhooked and he stepped down from the set.

He heard voices behind him as he kept walking as fast as he could, didn’t dare stop even when he heard his name called. Thankful that the glass visor of the helmet was going to be added in post production, he sucked in a series of quick, deep breaths, swallowing convulsively against the rapidly swelling urge to puke. His fist came up to his face, pressing the thumb side against his mouth as he gagged, pushing through the studio doors and turning right. The bathroom was only a few yards away but he only had seconds, so he hurtled forwards, bouncing off the external door dizzily and ricocheting into the nearest stall.

He was throwing up before his knees hit the floor, barely getting his face over the toilet as he regurgitated his half digested lunch in a horrible, loose rush, desperately trying to avoid messing up his costume, lest the wardrobe staff handed his ass to him over vomit spatter on the pristine white surface. As he retched again, his shoulders heaving, and choking as another wave of puke hit the water, he groaned, gripping the edge of the porcelain in his gloved hands. Cold sweat trickled down his neck and back, his head aching and the room tilting lazily if he dared open his eyes, so he simply hung over the bowl, letting each gag and retch empty his stomach a little more. The nausea raged, still unabating, but hopefully if he at least managed to throw up everything he’d eaten for the last two days, he wouldn’t risk actually spilling his guts on set.

Finally, after what felt like an hour, he slumped back against the partition wall, only now realising that he hadn’t even had time to shut the stall door behind him in his hurry. Thankfully, nobody else had entered the restroom during his bout of vomiting but he felt his cheeks burn in humiliation anyway. His stomach muscles hurt, his head was swimming, and he felt just as bad as he had prior to coming into the room. No, worse, he decided, because now he was trembling and exhausted, his mouth tasted horrific and all he could smell was the bitter-sour stench of sickness, and somehow he had to find the energy to get back onto his feet and into the studio, so that he could get set up for the next scene.

Fuck, he **hated** motion sickness.

 

~ X ~

 

As Sebastian bolted from the set, Hollie Elliott stood up and took a step forward. One of the team of medics on the rota to be on set during filming, she’d been watching him getting gradually paler and clammier as each take had progressed. It was clear that he wasn’t feeling well, but actors were notorious among the medical staff; they were either complete drama queens who loudly complained over the smallest of injuries, or they went totally the opposite direction and would turn up for work when they could barely stand. Apparently Sebastian fell into the latter category. She’d intended to follow him, but he had disappeared so quickly that she hadn’t even been able to grab her bag before the door had slammed shut behind him.

The confused muttering of crew and watching actors was interrupted by a roar of disgusted laughter from the effects team currently clustered around around a monitor. A quick glance to the side showed that evidently the poor guy was being violently sick, and had forgotten about the presence of the camera that was currently giving everyone a direct view of the action. She rolled her eyes in disdain at the watching team and stepped over to hit the power button on the monitor, the screen turning black as she rounded on them.

“Come on, guys, give him a bit of privacy, huh?” she admonished, shaking her head. She knew that the feed was almost certainly still recording but at least she could prevent everyone from watching the proceedings as they happened. She wasn’t sure yet if he had come down with some kind of virus or food poisoning, or if there was something else going on, but she’d hopefully find out after she had a chance to talk to him.

As she waited, she pulled some items from her bag in preparation, and put them into her pockets for easy access, while pondering the most likely cause of his illness. If it was a virus, it was probably too late now to prevent it running rampant through the whole cast and crew, but if he looked half as bad as he had when he’d left, then it would be medically justified to suggest that he took some time to rest and maybe give him something to help with the symptoms.

It was a good five minutes later or more that she heard the sound of the studio door opening and turned to glance across, along with most of the crew, as she finished pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves. Sebastian’s face was still chalky white, and as he got closer, she could see the sweat beading on his forehead, his gait unsteady even as his cheeks coloured in obvious embarrassment. He started speaking, apologising.

“God, I’m sorry, guys. That was so unprofessional, but I’m good now. Where d’you need me?” Sebastian asked and Hollie stepped forwards between him and the rest of the crew, stopping an arm’s length from his body.

“Hello, Mr. Stan, my name is Hollie, I’m one of the medical staff here. Can I have a quick chat with you?” she asked, her tone gentle but firm. Sebastian glanced between her and the waiting visual effects crew, with the producer and director a little further behind them, along with the rest of the curious film crew.

“I-I’m fine,” he stammered, trying to force a smile but starting to waver on his feet. “I just need to get back to work,”

Unfortunately, at that moment he swayed precariously, and Hollie reached out to grab his biceps firmly to steady him.

“You know, I really think you should take a break for a little while, Mr. Stan,” she advised, and he looked across at the crew once more, eventually nodding jerkily in acceptance. The action apparently made him feel worse as the little colour in his face drained away and she noticed his eyes flicking rapidly from side to side. _Nystagmus_ , Hollie thought, and the pieces of the puzzle all clicked into place in her head.

“OK, we’ll get you somewhere quiet where you can lie down for a little bit. Just sit yourself here for a minute,” she suggested quietly, waving over one of the visual effects crew while helping Sebastian to sit down in the nearest chair. When she turned to the crew member, her tone left no room for argument. “Get that camera off him before I get back, please,”

The crew member nodded and stepped forwards, flicking off the power and quickly started pulling the camera, transmitter and wiring out from the costume. Hollie strode over towards the waiting director and producer, and sucked in a deep breath to steady her nerves. She knew that Ridley Scott was notorious for tight filming schedules but her first priority was the health of the cast, and Sebastian was undeniably too ill to continue working at this point. Thankfully, after a quick explanation they both agreed they could film some other special effects scenes now and come back to more of his when he felt better.

Hollie quickly returned to Sebastian, and crouched down to look at him. His eyes were steady now, at least, but he still looked thoroughly miserable. She smiled reassuringly.

“Alright, let’s take a slow walk back to your dressing room, and see if we can get you a bit more comfortable,” she suggested, and - rather than answering - he wrapped his hands around the arms of the chair and used them to lever himself slowly to his feet. Hollie swung her medical bag over her shoulder and, placing her hand gently in the small of his back, encouraged Sebastian towards the exit. Unfortunately, the single dressing rooms were a couple of minutes away from the current studio, and she wasn’t entirely sure if he would make it back without vomiting again. She fingered the emesis bag in the pocket of her zipped fleece, grateful that she had thought to prepare while he had still been in the bathroom.

As soon as the door closed behind them, silencing the murmuring from within, she pulled the reinforced paper-and-polythene bag from her pocket and shook it open, depositing it into Sebastian’s clammy hands.

“If you need to stop and throw up at any stage, go ahead,” she told him, matter of factly, and asked, “Are you prone to motion sickness, Mr Stan?”

He chuckled mirthlessly for a moment, then huffed out a sigh.

“Unfortunately, yes,” he admitted thickly, as they walked, swallowing hard and sucking in rapid deep breaths against the raging nausea. “Though getting sick on the wires today was a first for me. And, please, it’s just Sebastian,”

They paused for a moment as he gagged, the back of his still-gloved hand pressed to his mouth as he fought the urge down, and she gently rested her hand at the middle of his spine until he started forward again. Hollie carefully took in the tremor in his hands, hoping that he would make it back to his room because he honestly looked as though he was barely upright at this stage. They paused again, this time as Sebastian retched properly, groaning painfully. His shoulders curled inwards while he breathed hard, desperately swallowing again and again as his mouth filled with saliva, and somehow managed not to progress beyond that. Hollie frowned in sympathy, rubbing reassuring circles against the small of his back and she leaned forwards to glance at the name tags on the doors ahead of them. They were almost past the multiple occupancy dressing rooms, so hopefully Sebastian’s room was close by as they began walking once more.

When she felt his muscles tense underneath her hand and his speed pick up, she flicked her eyes up to his face; he’d taken on a faint but definite greenish hue across his cheeks, the rest of his face still shockingly pallid rather than its normal tanned hue, and his lips were pinned almost painfully tightly between his teeth. He was obviously on the verge of vomiting again, but, quite understandably, wanted to get back to his dressing room. Hollie said nothing, however, just silently kept pace with him as he rushed the last few yards to the room bearing his name and shoved the door open hard enough for it to bounce off the rubber stop attached to the baseboard.

She quickly shut it behind them and, before she could say a word, he was bending over the  - thankfully empty - trash can that sat on the floor next to the makeup chair; retching hard, his body forcibly ejected the remainder of his last meal with each heave of his frame, while he propped himself up with one hand on the counter top beside him. Stepping forwards, Hollie pulled the chair up behind him, noting the fine tremor visible in the toned muscles of his thighs and urged him to sit, afraid that he would fall at any moment, while nudging the trash can closer between his feet. Calmly rubbing between his shoulder blades in long strokes as he bent double, each pained wave wracking his body, she tried to soothe him as much as she could. Reaching into the other pocket of her fleece, she pulled out a single use cold pack and squeezed it, kneading the contents to activate it as it rapidly chilled down, and placing it at the nape of his neck.

Sebastian groaned in relief, reaching out blindly, and Hollie slipped a hand into his. He gripped it tightly, squeezing, and gasped out a thanks between retches, as the waves of puke gradually tailed off into dry heaves. It was clear that the vomiting wasn’t reducing his nausea, so she called his name gently.

“Sebastian, I need you try and breathe through this. Take in a long, slow breath and hold it for a second, then breathe out just as slowly. Can you do that?” she asked, and he nodded, his eyes scrunched shut. He drew in a shuddering breath, trying to ignore his body’s continued attempts to gag, and held it. Hollie could feel his shoulders twitching from the suppressed retches as he held it for a few seconds, but he continued to slow his breathing, and gradually, the retching eased into the odd hiccup, and finally stopped. He stayed drooped forwards, his whole body trembling from exhaustion, and rested his head on his arms, which were folded limply across his knees.

Hollie glanced around, quickly forming a plan, and set to work. First, she moved the trash can. The visual was almost certainly enough to set him off again. Then she glanced over the spacesuit, trying to figure out how it opened. Thankfully, between them, they managed to unhook the helmet and unzip the main suit, until Sebastian was sitting in nothing but a sweat soaked undershirt and black boxer briefs. She helped him to stand, stepping them towards the sofa across the room, and lowered him into a horizontal position. A blanket was thrown over the back, so she pulled it down and laid it across him, both for warmth and dignity, and finally picked up both the cold pack from the chair and the slightly crumpled emesis bag that he had dropped in his rush into the room.

“I’m just going to clean this up,” she told him, tucking the cold pack back behind his neck, and reaching for the trash can. “I’ll only be gone for a short while but try and rest, and if you need to throw up again, use the bag,”

“Okay,” he muttered quietly, long fingers loosely wrapped around the bag, his eyes closed as he lay sprawled on his back. Even though the sofa wasn’t nearly long enough for him to stretch out properly, he seemed to be feeling a little more comfortable now that he was out of costume and horizontal.

Hollie gazed at him for a moment, evaluating his condition. His pulse was still bounding, visibly throbbing in his throat, but that was hardly surprising. Once she was satisfied that he was settled, at least temporarily, she slipped through the door and headed towards the nearest bathroom. It didn’t take long to sluice out the mess, and she was back in Sebastian’s dressing room minutes later, carefully placing the now empty trash can by his head. He wasn’t asleep but at least he appeared to be resting a little, and she stepped over to the mini fridge each room was supplied with, extracting a bottle of still water and returning to kneel beside the sofa.

“Sebastian?” she said gently, and his eyes blinked open. “You need to try and drink something.”

He nodded, carefully propping himself onto his elbow and took the bottle that she offered him; he sipped slowly a few times, but soon handed it back to Hollie with a grimace. His hand lifted to the vicinity of his face, fingertips crushing into his lips, and Hollie prayed that his stomach would settle. But after a few minutes of a valiant fight, Sebastian was throwing up again, leaning over the side of the sofa while his stomach purged itself.

Squeezing his arm gently in an attempt to provide him a modicum of comfort, Hollie turned to her medical bag and started sifting through the various drugs that she carried. Finally, she withdrew an ampoule of pale yellowish liquid and a sealed hypodermic syringe, as he drew in deep breaths to clamp down on the painful retching tearing at his abdominal muscles.

“Sebastian, I’d like to give you an injection of something to try and help with the nausea and vomiting,” Hollie explained, holding the items in her lap. He choked back a gag, his eyes shut and a deep frown line forming between his brows.

“Does it have to be a shot?” he asked, his voice gravelly from puking, and he pressed the back of his hand to his lips as he hiccuped hard enough to make his whole body shudder.

“No. No, I suppose it doesn’t. But you clearly aren’t going to be able to take anything by mouth, which only really leaves you three options, I’m afraid,” she told him.

“Which are?” he asked, coughing to try to clear his burning throat.

“Well, the first choice is to have no medication, and simply wait for this to settle. You probably know your body best, but I would imagine that you’ll probably stop vomiting within two hours, though the other symptoms might last much longer.” she said, and he nodded at her to continue. She held up the vial.

“If you want some medication to stop the vomiting and nausea, you can either have an injection of this into the top of your buttock, which would start to work within five or ten minutes...” she offered. He looked a little dubious.

“And the other option...?” he asked. Hollie quirked an eyebrow.

“Well I could send someone to the nearest pharmacy with a prescription for another form of the medication. Unfortunately, it would probably take at least half an hour to fill the script, plus another half an hour to an hour to absorb and start to work. It would have to be inserted into your back passage, however,” she told him. The face he pulled was positively comical, and she bit the inside of her cheek to ensure that she wouldn’t chuckle in response.

“The shot it is, then,” he replied dryly, and she set to work, running through some basic questions - any medications he was taking, allergies - and opening the ampoule to draw up the correct dose into the syringe.

“Just turn yourself over so you’re facing the back of the sofa,” she told him, watching him slowly shift onto his side. As she reached to uncover his hip, she warned him, “I’m afraid this might sting or burn a little bit,”

Sebastian nodded that he understood, and Hollie talked him through each step of the procedure, folding the blanket back and tugging the waistband of his boxers down to expose the very top of his buttocks. Wiping the skin covering the outside curve of the taut muscle with a sterile alcohol swab, she inserted the needle perpendicular to the flesh; after checking that she hadn’t hit a vein, she slowly depressed the plunger of the syringe until the full dose had been injected deep into his gluteal muscle. Apart from a twitch, he made no move or sound, and she withdrew the needle, pressing a piece of gauze to the injection site and rubbing gently both to ensure there was no oozing and to help ease the aching sting of the drug.

“OK, we’re finished,” she told him, pulling his boxers back into position and recovering him with the blanket. He slowly rolled back, wincing a little as he lay on the still slightly tender spot. “Just give it a few more minutes and hopefully you’ll start feeling a little less nauseated and dizzy,”

Sebastian made a noise of agreement in the back of his throat, his eyes closed once again, and she stood, moving the chair over to the sofa so that she could sit more comfortably next to her patient. Opening his eyes briefly, he glanced around for the water bottle, and began pushing himself up to reach it. Hollie passed it to him, and he muttered a thank you, taking a few more careful sips.

Almost as soon as he swallowed, though, he pulled a frustrated face.

“Okay, bad idea...” he said, fighting back the sudden swell of nausea. Hollie reached out, resting her hand on the outside of his hip, and urged him back.

“Just close your eyes for a minute,” she said, squeezing gently, “take some deep breaths...”

Sebastian hummed in acknowledgement, but Hollie could see the tension growing in his muscles, his fingers fidgeting anxiously against the edge of the blanket, and instead glanced to make sure the trash can was still within reach. Sure enough, his eyes shot open and he rolled himself onto his elbow as he choked up the small volume he’d managed to swallow. The sensation of her hand sliding to his back, grounding him, was more soothing that he’d ever admit to anyone else, and for a minute he let the whorling queasiness control him, even as his throat burned and his eyes teared up under the exertion.

Finally, as the heaving died down, he fell back against the sofa, his arm over his eyes, and groaned.

“God, I’m _so_ sorry about this,” he apologised, his cheeks - already flushed from his sickness - darkening further in his embarrassment. Hollie tutted and shushed him.

“You don’t have to apologise, Sebastian. It’s hardly the first time I’ve had to see someone vomiting, and to be honest, after a few shifts working on the Drunk Bus, you get a new perspective on what counts as embarrassing behaviour!” she stated firmly. “Besides, motion sickness isn’t something that you should blame yourself for. If anything, you should be proud of the fact that you have the commitment to continue working until you reached the stage where you were physically ill. There are plenty of people who would have called it a day long before that.”

This time, when his cheeks coloured, it was with the warm glow of being complimented. If he hadn’t felt quite so exhausted and drained, he’d have probably demurred, even now finding it hard to accept the positive comments that often came his way. Instead he nodded against his forearm, still draped over his face, and sighed...

It was a couple of minutes later when he finally spoke again.

“DRUNK Bus?!” he asked, lifting his head to stare at her, his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Hollie laughed and explained.

“When I was a newly minted doctor, fresh out of medical school, I supplemented my already insane shifts with spending every other Friday and Saturday night on the Drunk Bus. We provided a safe place for people to get patched up, rehydrated and sleep off the worst of the alcohol overdose, rather than have them take up a bed in the emergency department.” she clarified, and he nodded. “Believe me, some of the things I saw were just crazy. However embarrassed you think you feel, imagine waking up and finding out that you managed to knock back a dozen pints, fall face first into the Christmas Tree and end up in hospital with very wet pants!”

Hollie guessed that the medication was starting to take effect, as the colour was returning to his cheeks, and he even smirked at her response.

“Oh, now you have to tell me some more stories!” he cajoled and she grinned, subtly checking the clock. It had been fifteen minutes, and hopefully by now, he would be able to keep some fluids down. She started recounting a couple of the tamer stories from her time on the bus, and halfway through, she casually passed him the bottle without even stopping. The distraction seemed to work and he took a series of sips while she continued with the tale. This time, however, his stomach accepted the water without objection, and she smiled inwardly.

They continued to swap anecdotes; he had plenty of his own drunken tales revolving around himself and his friends, and she found herself giggling until her stomach ached after one particularly colourful story. Glancing up at the time, she noticed it had been over half an hour since he’d last thrown up, and it seemed that, after half a bottle of water, he was probably finished for now. With a stretch, Hollie stood, grabbing the trash can and he quickly reached up, putting his hand on her wrist.

“Hey, I can do that,” he said, tugging gently, and she smiled down at him warmly.

“You’re very sweet to offer, but it’s fine. You stay here, make sure you’re feeling as good as possible, before you head back to set,” she explained, extricating herself from his long fingers. “I’ll be right back,”

It only took a minute to clean up, and as she stepped back into Sebastian’s dressing room, she found him now sitting upright, one foot tucked across the opposite knee and his cell phone in his hands, the blanket draped casually over his lap and his bare legs. She set the trash can down, back beside the makeup mirror, then lowered herself besides Sebastian, to give him a quick medical once-over before letting him back to work.

“How’re you feeling now?” she asked, reaching out to feel his pulse. “Honestly, I mean,” she continued, as he opened his mouth. He gave a crooked smile, knowing that he’d been about to say everything was fine.

“Much better. My stomach’s still a bit off, but I don’t feel like throwing up any more. And honestly, I could sleep for half a day I think. But I’ll be okay, as long as they don’t want to spin me around the set like some kind of space themed marionette anymore!” he admitted.

Hollie nodded, before answering. “Well, I think you’re good to head back whenever you feel up to it,” she said. Standing up, he stepped across the room to grasp the pair of jeans that were slung over the clothing rail.

“Thank you so much for looking after me,” he told her, as he stepped into his pants and slid them over his hips.

“It’s no problem, honestly,” she told him, with a smile. “Thank you for being a decent patient!” she added and he laughed, his eyes crinkling and his head thrown back in genuine amusement.

“Yeah, I’ll give you a call next time I come down with a head cold. 'M pretty sure you won't think I'm a good patient for long!” he told her, still chuckling as he bumped his shoulder into hers amiably. “But seriously, the least I can do is take you out for coffee and Krémes to say thanks. I insist,”

She stared at him for a moment, then rolled her eyes as he pulled a wide-eyed puppy face that she was sure must be irresistible to most of the female population, and probably a good percentage of the males too.

“Okay, okay! Coffee,” she agreed, and his smile lit up the room. She took the phone he held out towards her, and quickly tapped in her number, smirking as she saved it under _“Hollie The Butt Stabb_ er”, and handed it back. He glanced down at the new contact, breaking into chuckles, and tucked it back into his pocket as they both started towards the door.

“I better head back now. I’ve already thrown a big enough spanner in the works, so I need to get on,” he told her, as they walked side by side back to the studio.

Sure enough, as soon as they stepped inside, Sebastian was immediately back into work mode. Hollie sat back and watched, glad that she’d been able to help, and watched as he slipped right back into costume and the next scene as if he’d never left the set.

 

~ X ~

 

The next day, when she arrived at the studio, she found a beautiful bouquet of lilies, germini, chrysanthemums and carnations, in a riot of shades of orange, waiting for her. As the heady scent filled the air, she dug into the hand-tied wrapping paper and freed the card that was included, laughing under her breath as she read it.

_They didn’t have a ‘Sorry You Had To Watch Me Toss My Cookies’ bouquet, but hopefully this will do instead. Still up for coffee? - SS_

_Yeah,_ she thought to herself, fondly. _This’ll do just fine._

**Author's Note:**

> Science Bits:
> 
> The title comes from the **unnofficial scale** used by astronauts to measure the severity of the nausea and vomiting they experience when first going into space (and returning to earth, after any length of time in space) and experiencing **[Space Adaption Syndrome](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Space_adaptation_syndrome)**. In the mid 1980s, Senator Jake Garn "persuaded" NASA to send him into space. Once he reached space, he suffered with such extreme symptoms that all experiences are compared to his, anecdotally. **One Garn** represents the maximum severity of symptoms, where the person is completely incapable of any activity. It is not possible to exceed One Garn. 
> 
> **Motion sickness** is a **horrible condition**. Unlike its name, it isn't simply nausea and vomiting. It causes **fatigue** initially, followed by a **sense of general unease** or of **vaguely being unwell**. As motion continues, the person experiences other symptoms and signs, such as **pallor, cold sweats, excess salivation, vertigo (dizziness), headache** and **nausea** , with or without **vomiting**. Unlike most other situations, where vomiting tends to **ease nausea** , at least temporarily, the severe nausea of motion sickness is often **unaffected by vomiting** , which increases the discomfort. Once the motion that is triggering symptoms is stopped, it can often take up to **an hour or two** for the symptoms to resolve, although the exhaustion can last for **a day or so**.
> 
> Motion sickness is caused when there is a **mismatch between movement perceived** by the **eye** , and the **vestibular system** in the inner ear. Scientists aren't quite sure why this should trigger nausea and vomiting, although one theory suggests that as many **poisons** can cause dizziness, vomiting may be a defence mechanism against possible poisoning. 
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> This mismatch can occur in a number of ways:
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>   * **motion is felt, but not seen** \- such as reading in the back of a car, in a centrifuge, or on below deck on a boat. 
>   * **motion is seen, but not felt** \- such as with virtual reality headsets, some video games, and with SAS. 
>   * **motion is seen and felt, but the stimuli don't match** \- certain fairground rides that spin, or while driving slowly along a very rough road. 
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> 
> There are a number of **drugs** that can be used to treat motion sickness. These are usually available over the counter and include **Dramamine** (dimenhydrinate), **Stugeron** (cinnarizine), and **Bonine** (meclizine), though not all are available in every country. In addition, **scopolamine** is sometimes prescribed as patches that are placed behind the ear, and last for three days; however, these can lead to **more severe side effects** , including **severely blurred vision, dry mouth, constipation** and **difficulty urinating/urinary retention**. In addition, unlike the tablets, they may cause **rebound symptoms** , so that the person suffers the symptoms of motion sickness when stopping the use of the patches. Thus, they are usually reserved for **the most severe cases** of motion sickness. Ideally, motion sickness medication should be started at least **an hour or two before** the person starts the activity that tends to make them feel unwell - and the scopolamine patches should be started even earlier.
> 
> The drugs usually used to treat **nausea and vomiting** are often little use in motion sickness, although some people find that **Compazine/Stemetil** (prochlorperazine) is helpful. Thankfully for Sebastian in this fic, he found that this drug relieved his nausea and vomiting once the motion had ceased. It can be given **orally, buccally** (dissolved between the gum and lip), **by injection into the muscle or vein** , and as a **rectal suppository**. The **suppositories** are actually very effective for people who cannot keep oral tablets down long enough to be effective but are **often unpopular** because of the route of delivery! 
> 
> **Nystagmus** is a condition where the **eyes flicker rapidly from one side to the other** often associated with vertigo (as well as a number of other causes). You can sometimes see it when you look at the eyes of someone who has been spun very rapidly in circles. It isn't commonly associated with motion sickness, but if the patient is suffering extreme vertigo and dizziness, then it's possible for this symptom to occur. The image below shows what this looks like.
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> **Krémes** are a Hungarian sweet treat, made with a thick, vanilla filling and crisp layers of pastry.


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